I unsheathed Dawn from the scabbard on my back. I may not have fae magic and strength, but I did know how to fight, and I had my mage magic. Taking Rafe’s cue, I gathered my magic in one hand and flung it at an approaching mage soldier. Lightning sizzled and struck as I called forth my powers. This was no time for push strikes and shielding; it was kill or be killed. However many times I had been put in this situation, it was hard for me to bring myself to do it, but I knew I had to—our lives depended on it.
Metal clashed against metal as I braced my sword for an attack from the side. I whirled around and swung my sword in a wide arc, slicing through my attacker’s arm. My hand sizzled with mage fire as I let it loose, engulfing the screaming mage in a torrent of fiery death. The stench of burning flesh made me nauseous, but there was no time to think or stop as I braced myself for another attack.
Tristan was still fighting the dark fae, silver and red fire shooting back and forth between them as their swords clashed and flickered faster than the human eye could see. They were strong, the dark fae, and powered with demon blood, they were ferocious fighters with all the strength and fire Tristan had.
Two Drakaar moved toward me from the trees. Before I could shield myself, one reached out his clawed hand and a Shadow Demon emerged, snaking in my direction. My mage magic could not withstand a Shadow Demon, which I had learned the hard way back in Brandor when one had first attacked me.
The shadow creature pounced upon me, its dark claws choking my throat. I tried to pull it off, but I was not strong enough.
“How does it feel to be helpless, Dawnstar?” sneered the Drakaar, moving closer, his hand outstretched, controlling the Shadow Demon. “Without your fae-fire you are noth—” His words were cut short as two hamadryads emerged from the trees behind him and embedded their claws in his throat.
The Shadow Demon disappeared with the death of its master, and I gasped for air. Black blood stained the undergrowth while the tree spirits finished their work.
I looked at Tristan, who was standing over the bodies of the two dark fae. They lay lifeless on the ground, their heads severed from their bodies. I smiled. I guess they underestimated the Prince of the Night Court.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an arrow whiz toward Kalen. It tore through Penelope’s shield and embedded itself in his arm.
“Kalen!” I screamed. If I had my fae speed, I may have been able to stop it.
He grimaced and pulled out the arrow. Penelope ran to him to check the wound.
I breathed a sigh of relief. He was lucky the arrow had only hit his arm. Tristan had told me that if an arrow of blackened iron hit a vital organ, it could be deadly even to an immortal.
The Drakaar were shouting to each other to retreat as more hamadryads broke away from their trees and ambushed the soldiers and Drakaar. They tore out throats and strangled others in a fury, resulting in bloodshed and carnage the likes of which I hadn’t seen since the werewraiths in the temple in Elfi.
Suddenly, a roar sounded above—a creature I could not recognize. It wasn’t Abraxas; my magic could not reach him to summon him or speak to him. I craned my neck back and saw a flash of white wings through the trees.
Chaos erupted all around me.
Magic flashed and crackled in green and blue hues above the treetops.
A musical voice spoke in my head. “Do not fear, little one. I am here. And I brought help.”
I knew that voice, and my heart lifted with hope. “Snow!”
My beautiful white pegasus came soaring through the trees.
Behind her flew huge white snow leopards with massive wings. They came tearing through the branches and settled themselves in a circle around us. On their backs rode towering warrior women, resplendent in full battle armor that flashed in the midday sun.
“The warrior witches of Rohron,” Kalen whispered in awe.
The warrior women were beautiful and incredibly tall with braided hair, holding wooden staffs topped with shining jewels. A few of the witches’ staffs had more than one jewel shining on their apex.
One of the witches calmly aimed her staff at a Drakaar near me while still astride the winged leopard. Blue light shot out of one of the jewels and hit the Drakaar in the chest. He went down like a stone, and Tristan severed his head before he even touched the ground.
My legs nearly gave way in relief when I saw who was at the head of the witches of Rohron.
A familiar figure jumped off my pegasus, as agile as a young man. His long white hair was plaited like the warriors with whom he rode, and a familiar sword flashed in his hand. He looked thinner than I remembered, and with his short beard shaved off, his face appeared gaunter than before. But his blue eyes twinkled when he saw me, and he smiled.
There was no mistaking who it was.
I could hardly believe it. I felt my heart lift and fill with hope as a beam of sunlight fell through the trees, illuminating the clearing and the man who stood before me.
Gabriel Silverthorne was alive.
An Old Enemy
The witches, hamadryads, and Tristan cleared the forest of the threat, and Oblek was bound and tied to a tree, unconscious.
Uncle Gabriel spoke privately with Rafe, then joined us.
“We will need him for questioning,” said Uncle Gabriel after he hugged me tightly.
“We thought you were dead,” Penelope said plainly.
“I almost was.”
“Then how?” I asked, my heart still bursting with joy. I felt as if everything was going to be right again. Uncle Gabriel was here.
“All in good time, my dear.” Uncle Gabriel put his hand
